


In the Line of Duty

by Tysolna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fic Meme, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tysolna/pseuds/Tysolna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock comes back to 221B, the flat is dark and silent, and John is nowhere to be found. He turns on the light and sees John's jacket thrown over the arm of the sofa, John's shoes kicked haphazardly on the floor, and a crumpled letter lying in the middle of the coffee table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Line of Duty

**Author's Note:**

> I posted the [Hurt / Comfort Fic Meme](http://ficmemes.tumblr.com/post/84521757243/hurt-comfort-fic-meme) on my tumblr, and [Agnes Nutter](http://agnesanutter.tumblr.com/) asked for Sherlock / John: death of a loved one. This is the result.

When Sherlock comes back to 221B, the flat is dark and silent, and John is nowhere to be found. He turns on the light and sees John's jacket thrown over the arm of the sofa, John's shoes kicked haphazardly on the floor, and a crumpled letter lying in the middle of the coffee table. Sherlock frowns - John is usually very neat with his clothing and it isn't like him to not even hang his jacket on the pegs by the door or over the back of the kitchen chair. The shoes too worry Sherlock. The only times when he has seen John walk barefoot was when John was either very relaxed and at ease or very distressed, and the untidy way he had divested himself of the jacket and shoes speak more for the latter than the former.

Within seconds of turning on the light, Sherlock knows that something has happened to upset John, something to do with that crumpled letter. He steps over to the table, takes the letter, smooths it out and begins to read.

_Dear Doctor Watson,_

_It is my sad duty to inform you that Lieutenant William Murray was killed in the line of duty..._

Sherlock doesn't have to read any further, but he forces himself to do it anyway, then reads it again. He drops the letter and walks up the steps to John's room, while fragments of sentences float through his mind, over and over with every step he takes.  _...taking part in an excursion... unidentified attackers... shot while offering first aid... death was instantaneous... did not suffer... deepest sympathies... we all honour him... he will be remembered..._

 

The door to John's room is closed. While this usually would be no obstacle to Sherlock, right now he hesitates, unsure if he would make it better or worse by talking to John. He may have found his own ways of dealing with situations like these during his time as a surgeon, as a soldier. At the moment though he is neither, and Sherlock cannot let his friend remain on his own and uncomforted. He raises his hand and knocks softly. There is no reply from within. But since he is also not told to go away, Sherlock takes this as permission to enter. He carefully opens the door in case John is asleep, which he doubts.

John is lying on his bed, still in his clothes, his back to the room, his form as crumpled as the letter on the coffee table. His breathing is irregular but deep, and for a moment Sherlock thinks he is crying. "Sherlock", John says at last, acknowledging Sherlock's presence, and though his voice is rough and monotone, it is without the trace of tears.

 

What do people actually do in these situations, Sherlock wonders. That he has read the letter is obvious, asking John if he is all right would be absurd. Tactile comfort perhaps? He walks over to the bed and puts a tentative hand on John's shoulder.  _Mistake_ , he thinks as John stiffens, but when John sighs and relaxes into his touch, he knows he didn't do it wrong. They stay like that for a few heartbeats. Then Sherlock reaches for his usual tool: The truth. 

"I did not know Bill Murray", he says softly, "beyond what he wrote in your blog. But I know that he saved your life, and for that I am infinitely grateful."

John doesn't react. Sherlock squeezes his shoulder briefly and turns to leave. He is almost at the door when he hears John sigh again and mutter a quiet, "Thank you."

 

Sherlock predicts that John will be having nightmares that night. He plays the violin softly, soothingly until dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to Agnes Nutter for the prompt and Antidiogenes for enabling.


End file.
